Defensive Moves
by hawaii5063
Summary: House is up to something and Wilson is trying to stop him. That may be a mistake. H/W est. relationship


"She's taking a seat across the room," he whispered, trying to hide his amusement.

"Facing which way?"

"In your direction."

It was a lie. Cuddy had left the area nearly ten minutes ago; but watching House squirm never got old.

They sat in a booth in the cafeteria sharing Wilson's lunch. House slumped in the seat, trying to hide from Cuddy's view. Wilson hadn't bothered to ask why. Instead he was playing House for his own amusement.

Now that the two of them were not only living together, but in an actual relationship, things had become different. Their interactions were less comfortable and familiar, their old easy banter had been replaced with a seriousness that didn't fit well with either of them. It was nice to have a momentary return to the one-upmanship that had once passed for normal. It was turning out to be worth the price of lunch.

Of course passersby could see Wilson in the booth, though not House, leading to a lunchtime of uncomfortable encounters as people came by to chat with Wilson, departing quickly when they spotted House. A few of the braver ones who attempted to continue their small talk with Wilson were quickly chased off by House's contemptuous comments.

"Wilson!" a genial voice called. A tall, good looking man in his mid forties, with broad shoulders and a long stride approached the table, and Wilson smiled broadly. Once upon a time when he had been allowed to have friends other than House, he had counted this doctor among them.

House, however, snarled at their collegue. Actually snarled. Teeth and all.

Dev, as he was known by everyone at the hospital, simply chuckled. "Catch you later James," he called over his shoulder as he departed.

"Damn it, House. What the hell was that?"

"I don't like him."

"You don't like anyone."

"Not true. I like you. And Cuddy. And…I like you."

"Fine, I get that you like to keep your list an exclusive one, but can we leave active aggression aside and go back to the usual passive contempt?"

"Meaning?"

"No snarling at people."

"Devonshire is hardly a person."

"What do you have against him, House? Everyone likes Dev."

"I have nothing particular against _him_. Just a general aversion to all orthopedists and their torture implements."

Wilson sighed and gave a resigned nod of understanding. He knew more than anyone how much House had suffered at the hands of various orthopedists who had tried unsuccessfully to manipulate his mangled leg into something more useful than a painful support beam. He also knew that while their lack of success was not the fault of their profession, their failure left House with little regard for their specialty.

Wilson turned his plate slightly to make his fries more accessible to House, who accepted the peace offering with a nod.

****

House had been looking tired recently, thought Wilson. Today though he seemed exhausted, and his good leg had developed an off-kilter swing.

They were headed to the parking deck to retrieve Wilson's car, their communication limited to grunts and chin points indicating direction. Wilson tamped down the desire to ask about House's pain level or his other leg; these inquiries were poorly received at the best of times. Glancing at House, he was amused to find his friend doing the same to him.

Surprise caused House to briefly misstep, his leg catching in place while the rest of his body continued forward.

Wilson saw House land face first on the concrete floor and a moment later several pairs of hands lifted House to his feet.

"You all right? Did your cane catch?" asked Wilson, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. House hated concern.

"If that happens often," began a deeper voice, "there have been some new developments in…"

House whipped his torso around at the sound of the other man, apparently not having noticed the pair of extra hands. The motion unbalanced House again and he would have fallen had the orthopedist not caught him.

"Let go!" House pushed himself free. Anger flushing his face pink; a dark crimson sign of warning followed closely at the base of his neck.

"Easy there, big guy," Dev muttered as he worked to right House quickly. He then put his palms up to indicate that he meant no harm. "See you later Wilson, House." He inclined his head in House's direction, smiled easily, and turned to go.

"Not if I see you first, Devonshire," House replied.

Wilson called his goodbyes out to a quickly disappearing Devonshire, pointedly ignoring House's death glare at the retreating man's back.

***

House limped into their living room. His twisted flannel pajama bottoms, wrinkled tee shirt, and wild hair spoke of a night of tossing and turning.

"Leg?" offered Wilson, who was already dressed for work.

The only response he received was a grunt as the taller man flopped onto the couch. "I'll be in later. I'll take the bike."

Wilson swallowed his concerns about House's increasing leg problems mixing with motorcycles, and instead offered to delay his own arrival at the hospital.

House's scathing response was cut short by a call from the hospital. Wilson answered it, and after a moment replaced the receiver with a sigh.

"One of my patients had a difficult night. I've got to get in, but poke your head in when you get there, all right?" At House's grunt he added, "Buy you lunch?"

House nodded and rubbed his leg.

Three hours later Wilson had not seen or heard from House. His fellows sat reading journals and magazines in the conference room, seemingly pleased with their boss' absence and brushing off Wilson's concerned queries. A call home yielded only the usual short irreverent message, and House's cell went straight to voicemail.

Just as Wilson was pondering the wisdom of paging House, Cuddy stepped into his office with a sheet of paper that she handed to Wilson with a sigh. He took it warily; her exasperated look could only mean one thing - House trouble. Cautiously, he glanced at the paper; it was House's department's billing statement.

His eyes carefully scanned the list of the usual useless and unprofessional expenditures besides the wildly expensive diagnostic procedures House's department – and only his department – got away performing, until his eyes came to a few lines that caught his attention - three rather expensive replacement items for the office of Dr. Mitchell Devonshire.

It was Cuddy that broke through Wilson ruminations.

"House broke several items in Devonshire's office. Do you have any idea what is going on between those two?"

He shook his head. "I wish I did. All I know is House has it out for him for some reason."

She nodded. "This morning I caught them both in a full blown argument in the clinic. Our patients don't need to hear that sort of thing between our doctors."

"What were they arguing over?"

"I have no idea and neither would tell me."

"Well...perhaps it wasn't House's fault then?" Wilson knew how ridiculous it sounded the moment it left his mouth.

"I need your help stopping this. Dev is too good of a doctor for this hospital to lose just because House has decided he is the target of the month. I don't need another doctor leaving here on account of him." Wilson nodded in agreement as Cuddy continued. "And now this comes across my desk," she gestured to the paper in Wilson's hand. "You can let him know for me that I'll be taking the full amount out of his paycheck."

Wilson nodded again and put on his best look of appeasement to mollify Cuddy. "I'll talk to him, I promise," he told her as he guided her out of his office.

When he could hear the sound of her heels enter the elevator he leaned his back against his closed office door and pinched the bridge of his nose. Would House ever learn to play nice? He doubted it. And all he could do at best was do a better job of playing defense. He had never been much of a football player. Maybe he needed to buy bigger pads. And a helmet. Definitely a helmet.

***

The next morning Wilson was feeling a bit more confident in his ability to smooth over whatever this was between Devonshire and House.

House had finally slept well the night before and appeared in a much better mood that morning. He had hummed a steady stream of songs as he helped himself to the last of Wilson's favorite cereal, and Wilson, in the spirit of fellowship, ignored both the cereal thieving and the Fleetwood Mac playlist coming from between House's teeth.

When House had finally set off for work, claiming he had an early morning consult, Wilson chose not to question it. He was glad for the few minutes of quiet to hear himself think.

By the time Wilson arrived at work he had a game plan. He reminded himself that he wasn't just good at dealing with House, he was also good at dealing with those House offended. He had always been a naturally friendly person, a peacemaker, and he knew that a handshake or smile, and if necessary, a well placed apology, could work wonders.

He pushed the elevator button for the orthopedics floor.

Wilson knew Dev was unlikely to have been truly offended, but he also figured it would be a chance for the two of them to reconnect a bit, maybe chat for a few minutes about any new improvements in orthopedics that had come out in the interim years. If there were any, Wilson could wait a few months before mentioning them to House, never raising any suspicions.

Wilson approached Dev's office, preparing in his mind his opening salvo, when he stopped short. Through the glass he saw House and Devonshire standing just feet apart. Dev's arms were crossed and he was shaking his head and frowning sternly at House.

Meanwhile the diagnostician's arms were waving wildly, the cane narrowly missing Dev repeatedly as it swung past him with each gesticulation.

Momentarily frozen in place by surprise, Wilson admired Dev's fearlessness; most men would have flinched by now or certainly backed up. But the orthopedist was holding his ground against the angry tirade from House. Eventually movement returned to Wilson's limbs and alarm to his brain, and Wilson ran the remaining steps into the office and threw open the door.

The two combatants turned and faced him, Dev's expression turning quickly to open and friendly, House's clouding over.

"House, this is not okay. Get out of here," Wilson held the door open for his friend, hoping he would just leave without an argument. Wilson didn't really have a plan B.

"Wilson," began Dev, "it's fine. House and I were just discussing…"

At that point House whipped his body back around again towards Devonshire, his cane clipping the man hard on the shins. "This is a private matter between you and me. This doesn't concern Dr. Wilson. Am I clear Dr. Devonshire?"

Dev nodded and gave Wilson a friendly dismissive shrug. With that House limped out of the office with Wilson following behind, a quick apologetic glance thrown over his shoulder as the door swung closed on Devonshire.

In the elevator Wilson confronted House. "I don't know what you said to him and I don't want to know…"

"Good," interrupted House, "because it's none of your goddamn business."

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. That was happening a lot lately. "It is when I spend half my days cleaning up messes you've made."

"You can give up the nursemaid routine you know. I am a big guy now. Even Dr. Dev says so," House added with a mocking falsetto voice.

"Then act like it!" Wilson hissed as the elevator door opened into the empty hallway and the two men stomped out.

"If you say so, Mommy."

"All right House, I've had enough." Wilson grabbed House by the arm and spun him so that he could look him directly in the eye. "I'm am seriously getting tired of your little game where you zero in on some unfortunate PPTH staff doctor and decide to harass him until he quits."

"If you don't like my_ game_ then don't play. I don't recall asking you to play anyway." House retorted. And when Wilson held on to his arm he added, "Don't forget to pick up your consolation prize on the way out."

"Yeah, well, here's what the loser in this game gets. If I catch you within 100 feet of Dev again, House, you can sleep on the couch." With that Wilson stalked off.

"He doesn't need your protection," House called angrily at his friend's receding back.

"Well he's getting it," Wilson shouted as he entered his office and slammed the door behind him.

***

The following week House slept on the couch three nights in a row. Dev had apparently become House's newest target and Wilson was at a loss on how to stop it.

That Tuesday morning he had caught House trying to phone Devonshire. House was at his desk, his right leg out on a chair before him, rubbing his palm vigorously into the muscle. Wilson had spotted the motions from the hallway and had come in to offer some distraction from the pain in the form of gossip he had just gleaned from two oncology nurses. As soon as House noticed his presence he had slammed the receiver down.

Wilson hadn't bothered to say anything. He just picked up the receiver, and pushed redial. Dev answered. Wilson exited the office without a word.

That evening House returned home to find his pillow and the spare blanket on the couch.

The next day Wilson felt guilty. It was clear that House's leg was bothering him more than it had in a long while. Maybe this whole thing with Devonshire was just House's way of distracting himself. It certainly wasn't unusual for House to deal with his physical pain by causing others the mental kind. A file cabinet of exit interviews could attest to that.

Wilson decided to change his strategy from confrontation to distraction. That very day he spotted House from the indoor balcony overlooking the hospital's foyer, limping more awkwardly than usual across the linoleum. His eyes fixed ahead of him on a white coated figure chatting to someone at the reception desk.

"Damn it," muttered Wilson. Although he could only see the form from behind, he was sure it was the unlucky orthopedist.

House had only managed to get a hand on Dev's shoulder from behind when Wilson shouted to him from the balcony. His voice reverberated in a loud echo around the two-storied circular area. Nearly every face in the foyer turned up towards him.

Wilson felt the redness creeping up his neck as his eyes darted from person to person. He licked his lips and tried to smile at the questioning faces all waiting for what he had to say. Apparently "House! Stop!" had been taken as some sort of warm up act.

The room remained silent for a long while as Wilson contemplated his exit. He had just started to inch backwards when the clip-clop of Cuddy's heels sounded in the lobby. No doubt she had heard his shout from her office. No doubt they had heard his shout from St. Sebastian's.

Cuddy paused just below the balcony and looked up at him, her arms crossed and a questioning look on her face. Wilson pointed towards House by way of explanation… but House was no longer there. Dev turned around, also with a questioning look. No House.

Wison mouthed an apology in Cuddy's direction and fled.

That earned House the remaining two nights on the couch.

***

On Saturday House had awoke early and disappeared. Wilson found an unopened box of Captain Crunch with Crunchberries on the table, clearly an apology from House. Wilson made himself a leisurely breakfast with the Captain and decided to do something nice for House as well, to end the past few weeks' escalating tensions.

His idea was to download a new playlist onto House's iPod. He had meant to do it a few weeks ago, before House's run at orthopedist baiting had distracted him. He thought he might expand his friend's musical repertoire a bit with some newer stuff that House would appreciate. Some Train perhaps, some Black Eyed Peas possibly.

Wilson searched everywhere but the iPod was nowhere to be found. House couldn't, wouldn't, be stupid enough to use it while on his motorcycle, would he? Wilson wrinkled his brow and sighed. Lately keeping House out of trouble was exhausting him. He promised himself that in his next life he would make friends only with responsible people. Actuaries perhaps? Or maybe come back as a goat herder. Now that sounded relaxing. Wilson smiled and lost himself in his daydream. The bang and clatter of House's return made him start.

"Why look who is lazing about on a Saturday morning! If it isn't Princeton Plainsboro's very own Boy Wonder Oncologist. I guess it is only the _dedicated_ doctors who go in on the weekends."

House threw a large bag onto the piano bench and pulled his iPod out of his pocket, connecting it to the stereo system. He tossed his leather jacket on the couch before reaching for the bag.

"Give me a hand, will you?" he said, extracting some sort of leg brace.

Wilson's eyebrows shot up as he climbed off the couch slowly. He approached House as a person showing new signs of mental illness. He closed the distance with caution, tentatively reached out a hand, and took the proffered brace from House's extended arms.

Wilson turned it carefully over in his hands. It was an elaborate orthopedic device composed of fiberglass, jointed metal bars, Velcro and a heel cup. There was an unusual swivel mechanism at its base.

"Um…it's…a…it's great, House." Wilson finished, annoyed with himself for his stupid stammer. He always stammered when taken by surprise.

House rolled his eyes and eased himself onto the piano bench. "You haven't a clue what it is, have you?" he mocked.

"Sure I do. It's a KAFO – knee-ankle-foot-ortho. The kind they call a long leg brace. The kind you _adamantly refuse_ to wear."

House snorted. "It's more than that Jimmy-boy. This is a full quadriceps off-loading ortho that uses heel strike reduction and adjusted angulations to allow for movements that would not be possible otherwise." He said it in a way that implied both pleasure and pride - in a way that also implied that he hadn't spent the last dozen years avoiding wearing such a thing.

"Uh-huh," answered Wilson, more than a little skeptical about what had brought about this change of heart.

"Those movements that would be _otherwise impossible_," House repeated with emphasis, "those would be most notably lateral moves and pivots."

"Um, so you're going to wear it to play football?" Wilson joked cautiously.

"Nope. I'm gonna use it to _dance_."

That caught Wilson's attention; he was gaping like a fish, but he couldn't help it. House? Dance?

Well, actually it wasn't so crazy. House had been a good dancer once – no, that was inaccurate, House had been a great dancer. He had had rhythm, he had confidence, and he had that sense of fun that was required to make it look easy. But it had been a dozen years ago, so why now? And where did he get a brace designed for dancing – which Wilson didn't even know existed?

"Dev?" he asked.

House nodded. "Yep. Good guy that Dev. He custom made it for me. And he's been helping me learn to use it."

"But I thought you hated him?" Wilson practically sputtered.

"Come now Wilson, everybody likes Dev!"

Wilson did the fish gaping thing again, but quickly pulled himself together. "So why the big secret? Why let me think you had it in for him?"

House rolled his eyes. "It was meant to be a surprise. And you're pretty hard to shake. Always stalking me."

"I don't stalk you," Wilson protested. "I..I…look out for you. Besides, I have no choice in the matter, Cuddy put it in my last contract."

That got a laugh from House. Wilson knew House loved to make him defend himself.

"It's not easy finding 20 minutes a day away from the Wilson Watch, you know."

"Fine, I get it. I'm a mother hen. But why this sudden interest in dancing?"

"That wedding next weekend - your cousin's? I want to be able to dance. I know you want to as well, and now you've got yourself a partner."

Wilson grinned broadly. He had invited House to his cousin's wedding as a way of proving that his family was okay with their relationship. He had several gay cousins anyway, and he knew everyone wanted to meet the man who had finally gotten him out of the closet. Truthfully, he was far more worried about House's comments offending someone than either of their sexualities.

"That's...that's great House," said Wilson, still a little shell shocked. "So…you…staged all this crap with Dev? This was all a game to keep me from finding out that you want to dance?"

House sighed, already tired of this conversation. "Yes, we are all part of an international conspiracy to keep James Wilson from finding out I want to dance. Happy?"

At Wilson's pleased nod, House felt required to add, "Actually Dev can be an annoying know-it-all, always trying to tell me what to do with the leg. Plenty easy to be annoyed with. No faking required." At that he gave Wilson a pointed look.

Wilson shrugged, unperturbed by House's unspoken accusation.

"Now, shut up will you, and help me get this thing on. Dev says I need to practice every day."

Wilson helped House into the contraption, securing the harness around his crotch area and ignoring House's middle school comments.

When House finally stood Wilson could see that the brace distributed most of his weight on to the pivoting mechanism at the bottom. His weakened right thigh and overtaxed left leg seemed to be bearing little of the dispersed pressure.

"How long can you wear it?"

"Dev says I can build up to an hour eventually. Right now I can dance for...30 minutes."

No one else would have caught the tiny hesitation in House's pronouncement, but Wilson did. He folded his arms.

"How long did he _really_ say it was safe to wear it?"

House rolled his eyes and likened Wilson to his mother, another one for whom House's lies fell flat. Wilson took it as a compliment.

"Fine. Twenty minutes."

Wilson retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and dialed PPTH, adeptly avoiding House's grasp. A five minute conversation with Devonshire and it was clear that 15 minutes was the maximum safe usage at this point. Sixty minutes would eventually be possible after a few months of steady practice.

By the time Wilson put the phone away House was threatening to put on "Dancing With Myself" by Billy Idol.

Wilson simply smirked, yanked on the back of the seat harness (a House-leash he thought brightly), and caught House falling backward into his arms.

"Oh, no you won't," he hissed into House's ear. I haven't waited a dozen years to be your dance partner to have this be a solo act."

House leaned into the embrace. "Fine, what song do you want? One that someone over sixteen might have heard of please. None of that boy band crap you like."

Wilson refused to take the bait and instead nuzzled House's neck. "How about some Romantics? 'What I Like About You'."

House nodded in agreement and pushed himself forward, but he didn't let go. Rather he dragged Wilson forward with him to the stereo, pushing his encased leg out to the side. He found the requested song and a moment later sound burst through the speakers at a decibel sure to bother those in the next county.

"_What I like about you, You hold me tight, Tell me I'm the only one, Wanna come over tonight…"_

House released his grip on Wilson's forearm and slowly began to move to the rhythm. He shifted his hips side to side, his chest following in a perfect fraction of a second's delayed movement, his arms bent and moving in tertiary synchronized time. His smiled dreamily at Wilson and then closed his eyes. The corners of his mouth climbed upwards in a genuine smile and a bit of his teeth showed between parted lips. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in time with the beat. Soon his entire mind and body were lost to the music.

Wilson stared at his friend, momentarily dumbstruck - captivated by the ease of House's movements, the joy etched on his face, and the grace of his entire body.

After a short while, Wilson joined in. He had never been a great dancer, but he was passable. And seeing House like this – so free, so easy with himself – made him realize how much he missed dancing. And how much he was looking forward to dancing with House.

The music pulsed on, and the Romantics sang about everything Wilson liked about House, as if they could read his mind.

Suddenly House's eyes flew open, and he grabbed Wilson's arm and spun him around on his brace's bottom pivot. He then just as suddenly let him go, and Wilson had to stumble to catch himself from falling.

He was sure House would have laughed had he only kept his eyes open. But they were shut, and House continued moving to the music.

***

Wilson waited until he knew it was 18 minutes – three longer than Dev had forcefully recommended – before pulling the plug from the iPod. He then helped the sweat drenched House remove the brace, and the two men collapsed to the floor.

"God House, you can dance." Wilson murmured through his panting.

"All _real_ men can dance," was the pointed retort.

"Which are you insinuating? That I am not real? Or a man?"

That got the intended laugh.

They lay there on the hardwood floor for a long while just staring up at the ceiling, until House finally broke the silence.

"So, were you surprised?"

"The dancing? Yeah. But I think even more that you made friends with an orthopedist."

House chuckled again.

"I'm amazed, House. Really I am."

"Well, I had to do it. Couldn't let some pretty best friend of a second cousin sweep you off your feet next weekend and become the fourth Mrs. Wilson."

Wilson snorted. "Not likely. Still, I'm glad you did this." He turned and looked at his friend whose eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling. A sure sign he was being serious, no matter how he phrased his words.

"Yeah, well, you know what they say," House said quietly, "the best defense in an offense."

Wilson nodded and smiled. Maybe that's exactly what he needed to do with House - start playing offense a little more in the future. He turned onto his side and began to massage House's right thigh.

"It doesn't hurt, not yet anyway."

"Just a little offense," smiled Wilson as he carefully leaned over and gently rested his head on House's stomach.

They stayed there until Wilson felt House's muscles completely relax under his head and a hand began to snake through his hair. Fine fingers brushed his neckline and twirled over his ears. Wilson closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

A few minutes later the fingers disappeared and Wilson pushed himself into a sitting position. House followed.

Wordlessly House turned Wilson's face towards him and leaned in, finding his mouth and taking a greedy kiss.

"Bedroom?" was all Wilson could croak out.

House nodded, grabbing the edge of the couch. With one hand he pulled himself to a standing position, inadvertently knocking Wilson onto his back in the process.

House grinned down at Wilson.

"You coming? Or will I be dancing with myself in the bedroom too?"

Wilson chuckled. "You have any other new moves I don't know about?"

"Plenty. But you'll have to get off your ass first if you want to see them."

With that House hobbled away towards the bedroom. Wilson watched him go before pulling himself to his feet. As he made his way out of the room he caught sight of the brace, lying discarded on the floor. He picked it up and ran his fingers over it carefully. He never knew a piece of metal and fiberglass could be so meaningful. He gently slipped it back into its protective bag.

In the bedroom, music was already coming from the Bose player on the night stand.

He was going to enjoy this next type of dancing very much too.

*

*

*

The End


End file.
